


Hold Me Hard & Mellow

by maydei



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Blindfolds, Bottom Victor Nikiforov, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Safe Sane and Consensual, Top Katsuki Yuuri
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-20
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2019-06-29 22:35:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15738687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maydei/pseuds/maydei
Summary: Yuuri and Victor have fun with a blindfold.





	Hold Me Hard & Mellow

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for Issue One of the Litmag: appendicks (NSFW) portion!! Now that Issue Two is in the works, contributors have been given the all-clear to post. Title from the song Pillowtalk, which seemed somewhat relevant. 
> 
> This is very much PWP. Read with caution in public. Enjoy!

 

 

Victor takes a deep breath and lets it out in a shivery sigh. His toes brush the cold floor, and his skin is pebbled with goosebumps. The mattress dips behind him with Yuuri’s weight—Victor takes a moment to absorb all of their familiar bedroom that he can: bright walls, tasteful decor, the glow of city lights outside their bedroom window, encased by sheer curtains.

Yuuri’s arms loop around his body, and Victor’s vision goes dark.

His lips part. A sound escapes between his teeth, and Yuuri hesitates.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Yuuri reminds him kindly, and Victor shudders at the sensation of lips and teeth teasing at the nape of his neck.

“I was the one who suggested it,” Victor replies, amused and anxious in equal turns. He’s so used to seeing everything, so used to being in control. His hands clench in the sheets, and he arches into the feeling of Yuuri’s hands skimming across his shoulders, down his tender sides. They settle over the backs of his white knuckles and squeeze until Victor relaxes.

He does, but it’s not an easy thing.

Maybe Yuuri was right about him being high-strung lately.

“Vitya,” Yuuri murmurs against his throat, his voice a quiet rumble that warms Victor’s chest, “relax, love. I know you trust me. Let me take care of you, hmm?”

Victor makes a deliberate task of keeping his breathing even—though it’s not entirely nerves. Yuuri is a cruel and wonderful creature. If he suspects Victor’s affected by him too much too soon, he may very well withdraw to keep him on edge. It is, after all, exactly what Victor had asked for. He’s sure if he’d requested a night of care and comfort instead, Yuuri would gladly oblige him.

Victor uncurls his fingers one at a time. “Okay,” he murmurs. “Of course. Okay.”

He has only enough time to relax under Yuuri’s hands before they curl around his shoulders and wrench him backward. He gasps as his back makes contact with their bed. Victor arches up, the chill of their untouched sheets a shock against his heated skin.

Yuuri’s hand flattens over his sternum and pushes him down. Victor’s eyes are huge, wide, entirely unseeing. Yuuri’s tied the blindfold well.

Beneath the cradle of his briefs, Victor feels his cock begin to swell, a pleasant but insistent pressure that meets no relief. He bites his lip and finds comfort in the sting, and yelps when Yuuri grabs him under the arms, hauling him up the mattress.

Fuck.  _Fuck._ Victor moans and wriggles in place to get comfortable, but Yuuri is insistent he stay still. The weight of his palm against Victor’s chest is immense when he has nothing else to compare it to. Everything feels different like this, everything feels  _more_ —the deprivation of light makes his skin prickle, makes his ears strain for every sound.

“Yuuri,” Victor sighs. “Please.”

“Be patient,” Yuuri replies. He sounds amused, that same faint tone as whenever Victor is being particularly over-the-top.

Victor’s jaws part on a distinctly _impatient_ whine, but then—

“ _Nn—_ Yuuri—” Victor inhales with such force that his tongue stings cold, counterpoint to the hot suction of Yuuri’s mouth around his nipple. “Yuuri—”

Yuuri pulls free with a filthy _pop_ , and rather than scolding him, he blows over Victor’s soaked skin. His nipple tightens reflexively, and Victor huffs a helpless breath; it hitches when Yuuri closes his teeth around the meat of Victor’s pectoral, sweetly stinging points of pressure.

Yuuri laughs against his chest and Victor’s cock twitches, defenseless against Yuuri’s thrall.

“You said you were gonna be good,” Yuuri says, and fuck, he sounds so close. Victor’s hips twitch, and he moans when Yuuri holds him down with both hands. “I didn’t say you could move.”

“Moving is what I  _do—_ ” Victor cuts himself off with a gasp when Yuuri drags his mouth down his sternum, nibbles at his belly. He bursts out a slightly-crazed laugh. Letting Yuuri take control is never a hardship, but not knowing what to expect has Victor’s every nerve on overdrive. “Thought you liked that about me, zoloste.”

Yuuri’s voice is a warm hum. “I love the way you move. But I want you to stay still right now. Can you do that?” Victor exhales, long and low. He presses his lips together and nods. “That’s good,” Yuuri sighs, and rewards him with an open-mouthed kiss to his navel that nearly has Victor breaking his promise. He longs to grab, but instead he twists his hands in the sheets. “So good, Vitya.”

A tremulous little moan makes its way from between Victor’s teeth. His lips part, pulling air in through his mouth and over his soft palate, dragging over his teeth and tongue. “I’ll try,” Victor says. “I’m trying.”

Yuuri replies with an indistinct murmur, his fingertips wandering Victor’s sides, over the mountains of his hip bones, dipping between the subtle valleys of his ribs. Victor feels him shuffle closer, settle at his side, and from the balance it feels like Yuuri has risen up on his knees—

Without warning, Victor is lifted and flipped face down. He yelps in shock; keens when he feels Yuuri settle over his back, the bare length of his erect cock a warm line against his lower spine. When Yuuri’s lips find his ear, it’s all Victor can manage to reach forward and take hold of the comforter instead of arching back to seek relief. Blunt pressure pushes his thighs apart—Yuuri’s knee as he settles between Victor’s legs.

He is spread out for Yuuri’s pleasure and amusement.

Shivers traverse his spine; Victor’s muscles twitch and spasm beneath his skin, overcome with longing. He wants so badly to be touched. He wants so much for Yuuri to give him direction instead of just having him lie here  _uselessly._ Victor is usually an active lover, eager to please, willing to try anything, but  _this—_

“Still okay?” Yuuri asks right against Victor’s ear, and Victor really _does_ moan. Oh. Oh, oh. If this is how Yuuri feels whenever Victor does this to him, then it’s no wonder Yuuri was eager to reciprocate.

He feels possessed. He’s losing his mind with the desire to return the favor, but he can’t deny how fantastic it is to know he’s not only  _not expected_  to do anything, but he is  _specifically expected to do nothing._

It’s the sweetest torture. Knowing this will absolutely change him—and how they do this again in the future, but with Victor in control.

“It’s so hard not to move,” Victor confesses in a breathless laugh.

He feels Yuuri’s lips curve into a smile against his throat. “Now you know how I feel whenever you tell me to  _just relax_.”

“I’m gonna get you back for this, you know that?”

Yuuri sets his teeth against the nape of Victor’s neck, and if there were any justice in the world, he’d already be getting fucked into the mattress right now. Alas, Yuuri is far from merciful or fair. He simply does whatever he desires exactly when he desires it, and Victor would have him no other way.

“Oh, my love,” Yuuri purrs. “I expect it.”

And with that, Yuuri removes himself from Victor entirely. Victor strains for every sound as Yuuri crawls off the bed, and if it weren’t for the quiet sounds of his breathing, Victor might think himself left alone entirely.

“Yuuri,” Victor says, and tips his face forward into the mattress. His cock is hot and heavy between his legs, and it takes every iota of restraint to keep himself from grinding against the bed for relief. The blankets feel scratchy against his skin, and there’s a damp streak on his back that Victor just wishes he could  _touch_ somehow. “This is cruel.”

His voice, when it comes, is from somewhere completely different than where Victor expected it—not behind him but before him, very close to his own face. “Yeah, I know. Frustrating, isn’t it?”

Victor’s fingers twist in the sheets. He tries to keep his voice measured and knows he fails. “Extremely.”

“Good. I want you frustrated.” He can hear the smile in Yuuri’s voice, and when a sudden trail of fingertips wander over Victor’s vertebrae, his skin erupts in goosebumps. He whines through clenched teeth, and Yuuri laughs. “This is really vindicating, just so you know. Knowing I’m not the only one who gets all messed up when we do this to each other.”

“I get messed up every time I do this to you.” The confession is a whisper, and Victor shifts restlessly. His cock twitches and he bites back a moan, bites the inside of his cheek, wishes he could sink his teeth into Yuuri’s shoulder and mark him the way he feels marked, a perfect imprint of teeth to match the perfect handprint Yuuri’s left on his heart. “Thought you knew that.”

Yuuri has mercy. His fingertips pause in their path, then trail through the streak of his own precome painted on Victor’s bare back, sticky as it starts to dry. “Yeah, ‘course I know.”

“Then keep going,” Victor replies softly, and deliberately relaxes his muscles from his toes to his thighs, back to shoulders. His cock is insistent, a smoldering burn of arousal in his gut, but he ignores it. This isn’t for him, it’s for Yuuri. Fair’s fair.

He hears Yuuri sigh, and he sounds so far away that when his footsteps start so close to him, Victor nearly jolts in surprise. Instead, he lies silent and still. Expectant, loving. He trusts.

Oh, but he _wants._

So when Yuuri’s pacing stops and his steps fall silent, Victor tenses. He can feel the ache in his knuckles, the pleasant prickle on his skin where Yuuri’s eyes rest heavily, a preternatural sense of his lover and his doings that has developed over the year since they started living together. They know each other inside and out… in all ways imaginable.

Victor readily anticipates being  _known_ again.

And then he gets his wish.

Yuuri’s arms wrap underneath his legs and  _wrench_ him backward, and Victor groans in surprise; his body drags against the sheets as Yuuri pulls him to the edge of the mattress. In the months since Victor has stopped competing, Yuuri’s strength has surpassed his own—and in this moment, Yuuri uses it to his advantage. He lifts Victor with a bruising grip on his hips, but kindly waits until Victor has the presence of mind to support his weight on his knees.

But he’s merciless, he always has been, since the very first notes of  _Eros_ caught Victor like a hook in the mouth, reeling him in with red thread. Yuuri grabs the waistline of Victor’s boxer briefs and pulls them down—down, but not off. Victor’s thighs are trapped by them, unable to move too far apart, but that doesn’t seem to matter. The bed dips as Yuuri rests one leg upon it, and spreads Victor’s ass with his clever fingers.

Victor has barely any time to _think_  before Yuuri’s mouth follows and his tongue flattens over his hole, slick and sweet.

 _“Oh,_ fuck.  _Fuck,”_  Victor whines. “Yuuri.”

Yuuri nips at his cheek, and Victor shudders at the sting. He trails long, lingering kisses back to Victor’s hole and teases with the tip of his tongue, and Victor barely has time to sink his teeth into his lip and silence himself before Yuuri wriggles and pushes inside.

His body burns. Everything feels wet, and no matter the knowledge that he’d  _expected_ this, even  _prepared_ for this, Victor still feels gutted. Yuuri’s mouth is impatient, demanding, sucking, and Victor’s face and chest is forced to support his weight, since his arms surely can’t. He’s a wreck. A damn mess.  _Yuuri’s_ mess, fucking sloppy, and he  _keens_  as he feels spit drip over his balls, just as precome drips from the head of his cock.

He doesn’t realize he’s begging until Yuuri’s hand curls around his hip and guides his movements, helps Victor rock back into his mouth like it’s Yuuri’s dick pushing inside him instead. The force helps Yuuri push deeper, and the slow undulation of his tongue is enough to drive the thoughts from Victor’s head. Enough to render any thought of holding still to absolute destruction.

He’s a creature of instinct—Yuuri’s in entirety.

He’s never been anything  _but_ Yuuri’s, but in this moment, he knows no higher thought than the animal desire to be pinned, claimed, conquered by his beloved, to give himself willingly over to it.

“Fuck me,” Victor whispers, and doesn’t fully understand the magnitude of the words until he feels the hot, blunt head of Yuuri’s cock against his twitching hole. “Baby, please. Yuuri, zoloste, my love, my life. Please, please. Yuuri,  _please—”_

Words are impossible as Yuuri enters him. The stretch is exquisite, just on the edge of pain. He’s sensitive, he always has been, and though experience can prepare him for what to expect, it can’t eliminate it entirely. Victor has come to treasure this feeling, the first moments of their bodies joining.

His voice breaks when the head of Yuuri’s cock pops inside.

Victor tries to spread his legs, but they’re trapped by the briefs restraining his thighs. His muscles quiver, and Yuuri’s hands pet over his flanks. His skin is so oversensitized that Victor can pick out the distinct sensation of Yuuri’s ring against his skin, smooth touch-warm metal. Yuuri’s hands curl around his hip bones like handles, uses the angular nature of Victor’s body to his advantage.

He  _pulls_ Victor back onto his lube-slick cock, and all thought leaves his mind. A forceful sound punches out of Victor’s lungs. His head drops, his spine bends, and he is so goddamn full that he can’t process anything more than being held on Yuuri’s dick. Fortunately, he’s not expected to.

Yuuri touches the dimples at his lower back with the pad of his thumb. It’s gratifying that he sounds breathless. “Alright?”

Victor replies with a wordless whine. He fights to catch his breath. “Oh  _fuck,_ Yuuri.”

Yuuri pushes forward again. Victor’s belly clenches as he slides past that bright, perfect spot. Victor has nothing to see but the stars Yuuri makes in his vision when he pulls out and thrusts in again,  _hard._

He keens. His skin alternates in shivers of hot and cold, not knowing what he wants, but just  _wanting._ More? Less? Slower? Faster? He’s not sure, but he wants it.

Yuuri starts up a rhythm of slow, forceful thrusts, pulling out nearly all the way before he pushes in to the hilt. The ache of fullness is so fucking good that Victor can’t form words. He can only moan his encouragement, his praise, as Yuuri pushes and angles his body exactly as he wants. When he puts his hand on Victor’s lower back and pushes him down onto the mattress, he nearly complains at the subtle ache—

But Yuuri changes his position and everything shifts. He leans forward, plasters his chest to Victor’s back and his lips to Victor’s shoulder, and when he shoves inside, the head of his cock hits Victor’s prostate directly. The pleasure of it is near pain, and Victor  _keens._

“There it is,” Yuuri says smugly. His hands find the backs of Victor’s shoulders and follow the path of his biceps, fingernails trailing over skin until his hands settle over Victor’s. He twines their fingers together, and Victor grips hard enough to bruise. Now that he has Yuuri close enough to hold, he’s not about to let go.

“Please,” Victor pants. “Yuuri, please. Fuck me.”

“Thought that’s what I was doing,” Yuuri murmurs. His mouth opens against the juncture of Victor’s neck and sucks hard, draws blood to the surface, and brands the circle imprint of his lips with the sweet shape of his teeth. He’s so damn deep that every rocking thrust pushes him into Victor’s prostate, and the sensation never really leaves. It just… builds. More, more, more. Electricity in his limbs, heat in his gut, and Victor’s cock aches to be touched by something warmer and more forceful than the blankets below him.

“No,” Victor replies, “Harder. More.”

“You sure?” Yuuri asks. He gently squeezes Victor’s hands, rocks their hips together in a slow, languid motion, and Victor sighs with pleasure.

“Yeah. Don’t wanna think. Just feel you.”

Yuuri’s swallow is audible. His shuddery breath feels like a caress, and he kisses the back of Victor’s neck. When he pulls back, out, away, Victor gasps. Oh no, this is the _opposite_ of what he wanted—

“Get up on your knees.”

Victor scrambles to obey. Yuuri tugs his briefs down his legs, peels them off. He throws them, and Victor doesn’t know where they land, only that it’s far. He spreads his thighs, moaning weakly as the ambient air hits the sweat and lube that’s coated them; whines when Yuuri’s thumbs spread him open and his hole feels unbearably cold.

He clenches. Behind him, Yuuri groans. “Vitya, you look so good. I wish you could see you right now.”

“I want,” Victor says, and cants his hips back. “Yuuri, please— _oh, oh—”_

Yuuri is so deep so fast that there’s no room in his lungs for air, and Victor can only hold on to their bed for stability. His body rocks as Yuuri slams into him over and over and over, a harsh meeting of limbs that nearly stings. It’s too fast for accuracy, but close enough is so much more than _good enough_ because the sensation just builds, stacks, multiplies exponentially.

Each whine is pushed out of Victor’s mouth. Each slide and swivel is magnified by a thousand. Victor’s eyes are open and the blackness surrounds him, crushes him, and when Yuuri wraps a hand around his cock, the shock of it is so great that his body buckles.

God, he’s so slick. He hadn’t even realized how much he’d been dripping; their sheets must be a mess. Between sweat and come and lube and spit, they’ll be fortunate if the mattress underneath makes it out unscathed. The filthy wet noises as Yuuri fucks into him are enough that Victor can practically  _see_ it, the froth of come and lube and air and the red stretch of his hole and the stung pink of his thighs and oh fuck, oh—

“Yuuri, Yuuri,” he babbles. “Please, more, please—”

Yuuri squeezes on each upstroke of his cock and pushes in on each downstroke, and the overwhelming tidal wave of sensation is too much, too much, and Victor’s spine arches with it, and Yuuri hits him just right—

The sound that rips from his lungs barely sounds human, but he barely  _feels_ human either. Every inch of his skin is on fire, tingling, sparking, and his orgasm isn’t so much of a release as it is a nuclear warhead on his senses. Cognizance leaves him. The blackness behind his eyes turns to a mash of rainbow color, and there is a ringing in his ears that drowns everything else out. His spine goes so tense it feels as though he might snap, but Yuuri is still fucking him. It’s so much. Too much. It’s ecstasy and torture.

And when it’s over, Victor’s knees give out. The blindfold is ripped away, and everything is too bright. He can’t see; his pupils sting, and Victor clenches his eyes closed and tries to make sense of the world, of the feeling of being empty, of Yuuri’s mouth between his shoulder blades pressing kiss after kiss, lapping up the beads of sweat that roll down his spine.

Yuuri is patient. Loving. His hands are firm, warm pressure as Victor’s body begins to cool and tremble. He lays himself over Victor’s back, but this time, he is simply there as warm pressure and support. The compression allows Victor to relax.

He closes his eyes, and the blackness is not stifling. It’s peace.

“Did you—?”

“Yeah,” Yuuri replies with a harsh laugh, and nuzzles Victor’s throat. “Yeah, Vitya, of course. You’re unbelievable.”

Victor tips his head to the side, and Yuuri’s lips skim his jaw, smooch the apple of his cheek. It’s the same kiss he gets in the mornings, given freely throughout the day. It’s the same kiss he’s gotten a million times, and yet, Victor never tires of it. He preens.

Contentment is settling into his bones, and the sort of ache that only enthusiastic sex can bring. He feels used, owned, possessed. With Yuuri, it never feels degrading or objectifying. It has only ever felt like love.

Victor opens his eyes, and everything is light. He cranes his head back in search of his beloved, and Yuuri leans down to kiss him. Yuuri rolls to the side and pulls Victor with him; holds him tight, chest to chest. He slides his hand into the short, sweat-soaked locks of Victor’s hair and tugs his face to the curve of his throat. He pets down the short vertebrae from the base of his skull to the nape of his neck, and does it again and again.

“You’re so good,” Yuuri breathes. “The best, you know that? I love you so much.”

Victor nods. It’s all he can do.

He knows. Yuuri knows he knows. He nuzzles, noses, animal affection in its most primal state. This is his love, his life, his forever. His Yuuri.

Yuuri presses his face into Victor’s hair and huffs a warm, shaky laugh. “So, coach, think I can skip the gym tomorrow?”

At that, Victor smiles. He kisses Yuuri’s throat with all the love he can muster and replies, “Not on your life, zoloste.”

 

 

 


End file.
